Interlude
by Blackrose Kitsune
Summary: Yuusuke confronts Kurama, and another reason for our Fox's descent into his own personal Hell is put to light. /For those of you who wondered what become of some of the other characters during AGR/. Enjoy.


_**Interlude**_

---

There is a fine line between courage and cowardice. A thin, marginal line — an area of gray space, like Purgatory, or some such realm — is all that separates the principles of courage from those of cowardice. This should be almost impossible. At least, from a logical standpoint. Though, logic is an intellectual art very dead to most of the world this day and age.

Courage is bravery. Or, at the very least, courage is to be with a lack of fear. One is not afraid to stand for what one believes in, or what one stands for. Courage is doing right, not doing the popular, as some would have it said. It is seeing something through to the end desired by one's heart, not letting people, things, or circumstances, stand in the way.

On the other end of the spectrum is cowardice. It is the complete and polar opposite of courage. Cowardice is being afraid of the truth. It allows popular opinion to come before what is right and what is true. It is a fear to follow through with one's vows, seeking the easy ends out of a situation compared to gritting the teeth and bearing it.

Yet somehow, these principles form an inopportune paradox. For, although the terms are antonyms in all senses, their meanings completely the opposite of the other, both are so deeply entrenched within the other that sometimes, inevitably, they do cross.

And then, it becomes impossible to discern courage and cowardice.

Then, people are left to question; judge with their own morals which it was. Since people often have very radical opinions themselves, they tend to clash headlong when forced to decide which.

Often times, they cannot.

From there, an impersonal choice leads to a very personal, very internal struggle, and at the epitome of this inner struggle are some seemingly simple questions:

_"Coward! What gave you the idea?"  
__"So courageous! Whatever gave you the strength to carry it out?"_

And, regardless of which end the initial question stands from, the next is always:

"_But… how could you?"_

Because, weak or strong, courageous or cowardly, no matter what view and which end of the spectrum you stand on, we all have one thing in common: The residual guilt; the guilt humans feel for not having done something to prevent the inevitable.

Leading to the final question of…

_"How to save a life?"_

---

He paces nervously, his footfalls heavy, their sound muffled by the thick carpet he is striding across. His bare arms are crossed defensively before him, the muscles tight. An unspoken wave of tension ripples through him, every fiber of his being. Nervous energy courses off of him like heavy water drops against a window, thick, crawling, and undisturbed.

Patience never was his strong suit, after all.

_And, besides_, he reasons haughtily with himself, he has every right to be nervous and tense. Every right. He is about to confront one of his closest friends about a very personal matter — a matter he has no business whatsoever getting into. Why should he _not_ be nervous?

"Yuusuke?"

The sound of his name spoken makes him stop mid-pace. He turns stiffly, bidding his body to follow his mind's instruction. But, his muscles seem unheeding. A bead of sweat forms on his brow, he can feel it trickle down the side of his face slowly. It makes his skin crawl. Ignoring it, he pulls his mouth into a sheepish grin. He cannot yet find his voice.

"Are you all right, Yuusuke?" The voice is gentle, the tone unthreatening. Yet, somehow, it makes him sick to hear it. Sick with guilt, sick with shame.

He closes his eyes for a quick moment, hoping to quell the violent upsurge of nausea that has come with his friend's inquiry, but the ill feeling merely writhes deeply in his stomach. He takes a large, steadying breath, and audibly gulps.

"Ye-yeah. I'm fine, man," he breaths out shakily, his voice winded.

"You… said you wished my company." The redhead's voice is uncertain. "What did you wish, Yuusuke?"

He is thankful — more so than he will ever outright admit — that the redhead has taken the incentive to steer the conversation in the direction it needs so desperately to be headed in.

He seriously doubts that he can get the words out himself. At least, without heaving his morning's meal all over the clean, impeccably well-maintained pearl carpet he finds himself standing on. Gods, wouldn't that be a spectacle?

"So… Would you like to sit down, perhaps?" Kurama prompts. His hand motions swiftly towards the couch in the living room.

He nods listlessly, dull buzzing skewering his thoughts.

_Damn white noise._

Why was this happening? Why couldn't he open his mouth to speak? Why could he hardly move without the fear of tripping over himself and falling?

_What is WRONG with you, man?_ he chides himself mentally.

He sits nervously, perched on the very edge of the couch cushion, regarding the calm red-head across from him in the recliner. Gazing at that face: calm, collected, without fear or anticipation, a seed of anger blossoms in him, white-hot and burning. How can the boy be so calm? So damned unassuming?

He clenches his hands into fists and pounds them dully against his kneecaps. "Kurama," he winces. He really, really does not want to have to do this. "We need to talk." The words grind out from between his teeth and leave his tongue feeling bitter. Chalky.

Kurama gives him a puzzled look, quirking a slender eyebrow. "Do we?"

So _God damned_ unassuming.

He gulps painfully and nods. Black hair bobs unkemptly around his face. For a moment he sits trying to speak, but his throat is tight, painful. He gnaws on his lip for a moment, angry at himself.

"Yuusuke?" Kurama's voice cuts into the silence. "What do we need to talk about?"

At the question he reaches into his pocket. It is an almost reflexive action, smoothly, perfectly carried out. It makes him wonder mutinously why he'd had trouble doing it just moments before, without the redhead's gentle, damnable goading.

_Whatever._

Slowly, he pulls his hand out of his pocket. His hand is clenched tightly, his fist shaking. He holds the object out before him and unclamps his hand. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, the object winks dolefully back at his companion in the filtered light.

_It is the razorblade._

Kurama's face faults, color draining from his cheeks. His jaw clenches. Murder dances in his eyes, emerald flames flickering in blind loathing.

_Oh, if only looks could kill._

Kurama stands then, hastily, his body suddenly rigid. Venom sears through his veins. His fingers _positively itch_ to take hold of the forbidden little object; sheer into his veins merely to let that poison spill and gush at Yuusuke. Let the boy burn in the purging, acidic hell he had loosed upon himself.

He turns to go when Yuusuke's voice calls him back:

"Kurama, sit down. It's just a talk."

So, he stops, his viridian eyes shining over in white-hot loathing. A withering, mutinous smile curls thinly at his lips. He lowers himself begrudgingly back into the recliner, his hands clasped tightly atop his knees, one dutifully crossed over the other. Calm, collected…

_On the edge of a breakdown._

And suddenly, he is looking somewhere else. The venom has fled from his gaze just as suddenly as it had set in. His eyes are merely hunted now, bottomless jade pools starring into nothing far to the left of his ebony-haired, charcoal-eyed companion. He is resigned.

Just as steadily, Yuusuke stares back. There is no anger in him as he regards the beaten-down redhead. There is just an aching sadness. For the life of him, he cannot meet Kurama's gaze. Those eyes are just too — too haunted. It pains his very soul to look upon them. Cuts into him past blood and bone, through muscle, and goes right to his core. He settles for a nice point right of Kurama's shoulder, then. It's a window view with nothing to see. But, it's something.

The silence hangs thick between them. A thick, suffocating miasma. Kurama is staring dutifully off into nothingness, emerald eyes unfocused. He is dead to the world around them.

Yuusuke is gazing out a window with unseeing eyes. It gnaws at his very conscience. He is here, he reminds himself, to talk some sense into his friend. Get to the bottom of the thing eating at him. But, all he is doing is sitting here, looking at nothing, and beating around the conversation he told himself a long time ago had to take place.

Ever since he had found Kurama on the roof of his high school, unconscious and bleeding to death, he had known this would have to happen. Ever since he had picked up the blood-soaked razorblade at the scene and seen with his own horrified eyes what pain Kurama had carved out of his very flesh, he had known he would be the one to do the talking.

But, it made the task no easier.

Maybe it was guilt for not realizing that Kurama was aching so thoroughly the very morning before the incident. Maybe he unconsciously blamed himself for not noticing the behavior, or not confronting Kurama about it. Maybe he was just afraid of Kurama's sanity at this point, or afraid that he might lose one of his closest friends to the urges of an internal pain too strong to stand against.

At this point it didn't really matter why he had come. He had, and that was the end of it. Now, if only he could get the words out.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. In an attempt to buy a moment of time, now that he has instigated a conversation, he spins the blade between his fingers idly. Light prisms from the blade and paints shadows on the carpet.

Kurama directs his gaze to his companion then, his eyes tiredly watching the small object held between the boy's fingers. He remains silent.

"I'm worried about you, man." He is glad his voice comes out sincere. Honestly, truthfully sincere.

"You've no reason to be," Kurama mumbles back dryly. His tone is far from convincing.

At this, the raven is furious. "What?!" The word is screamed, and he is on his feet. "You're kidding, right?" His voice is angry, a growl in the tone. His fists are at his sides, clenched.

"I have no reason to be kidding, Yuusuke," Kurama interrupts mildly, watching the enraged boy with temperate eyes. His expression is blank, emotionless.

He feels it in his very bones that the boy is about to jump at him, rip at him with every ounce of his being in an attempt to pound reason into his thick skull. Somehow, he isn't bothered by this. He knows himself, and knows that it is beyond meaningless to hammer the proverbial point home.

"Don't be an idiot!" Yuusuke's tone is calmer now, though he still stands, looming angrily above his friend, hands clenched at his sides.

"Can you really find sense in this, Yuusuke?" Kurama's voice is tired, heavy.

"How can you be so calm, Kurama?" His voice is incredulous, and he stares down at the fox with bright eyes. "How can you take this so lightly?"

A tired sigh falls from Kurama's lips. He had known the question was going to come up. He had _known_. He shakes his head, idle strands of crimson falling into his ducked vision. "Because it was not a serious matter."

"What?" Yuusuke's reply is a barked laugh. Bitter. Angry. Unbelieving. "_'Not a serious matter'_? You almost _died_, Kurama! How is that _not _serious!?" His voice cracks then and he stops for a moment. _I will not lose my thread_, he tells himself. Then: "How, Kurama? _How?_"

_How?_ Now there is the question.

"You would not even begin to understand." Red hair dances around his face as he shakes his head. "So I will not bother to explain it to you, my friend."

At this, Yuusuke laughs. Hollow. "Ri-ight." Then, he sighs and shakes his head. "You really don't get it, do you, man? You've got no idea?"

"Enlighten me?" Yuusuke's question was a hook. A baited hook. He bit into it, knowing full-well.

"I don't care about understanding, man!" His voice is loud and he takes a moment to check his emotions. When he speaks again, his tone is milder. "At this point, it's beyond reason. And I know you well enough to know when it's beyond impossible to be reasonable."

"So, you're saying then, that you pardon what I did?" His voice breaks in a flicker of amusement.

"Don't be stupid," is the snapped back response. "You know damned well I can't excuse it. But I can't undo it, either—"

"So why bother trying to postpone the inevitable?"

"_**Shut up!**_"

A startled flinch runs through his body at the harsh tone, the commanding words. A bite builds in the back of his throat. Had the boy — this human boy — just told him to _shut up_? He presses his lips into a thin line to hold back a snarl.

"Kurama, listen to yourself, damn it!" It is almost a plea. "The past is the past, all right?" His voice cracks as his gaze flies to the silver sliver resting against his palm. "Let's keep it there."

A hoarse chuckle slips past his tightly clenched lips. "Well, history has a penchant for repeating itself, you know."

"Stop it!" His voice is angry, quaking. He's reached his breaking point, Kurama notices. "Damn it, Kurama, _**stop it**_and listen to yourself for a minute!"

His feet have carried him across the room and his fists have found there way into the soft, fleece of his redheaded companion's sweater. His fingers curl tightly into the material and he shakes the body beneath it furiously. "What is _**wrong**_ with you?!"

He lets the boy shake at him. Release the pent up fury and guilt within his bones. Unburden his soul. It is his fault, after all, and the boy has every right to take it out on him. So, as the boy continues shaking him, pulling and stretching at the delicate threads of his expensive sweater, he tunes out.

The droning mantra the boy screams and rages is no more than white noise to him:

_"Why, damn it? Why? What were you thinking, man? How could you? WHY DAMN IT?"_

And then, he is done. And on his knees. The hands, burrowed so deeply into the mess of green fabric untangle themselves from the sharp creases and drop lifelessly to his lap. Kurama gazes down at him blankly, watching the boy's curled back jolt up and down. An arrhythmic mess of jerky breaths.

"Yuusuke?" he asks gently.

"Da-amn i-it…" And then his voice is overtaken by a torrent of heaving, heady sobs. Quiet, dignity-retaining sobs, but the boy is crying, and he knows it. Muscles clench around his crossed legs and he feels the boy pressing his face into the tops of his thighs.

"Yuusuke, are you all right?" he asks after leaving the boy to his own devices for a few minutes. He hopes that the raven-haired youth has calmed enough to disentangle himself from his legs, as they are starting to fall asleep. Pins and needles, pins and needles.

After a moment, Yuusuke raises his face. His dark eyes are red-rimmed. Swollen. Damp stains traipse down his cheeks in perfect lines. His voice is rough when he grunts out a barely audible, "Huh." Then, he pushes himself up. For a moment his legs sway and he leans against the redhead for support, and then steadies himself.

"Yuusuke…" Kurama ventures quietly, his eyes lingering sadly on the boy, "I'm sorry…"

A swift punch slices through the air. His head explodes in pain. Stars dance in front of his eyes for a moment as he collects his scattered thoughts. A drumming knot pounds near his temple. Brushing aside knotted strands of scarlet hair, he brings a hand gingerly to the spot and winces. He bites down on his lip, feels tissue rend. Welcomes the bitter tang of copper on his tongue.

Yuusuke stands in front of him, clenched fist trembling at his side his eyes wide and bright. Livid. "That doesn't cut it, Kurama That doesn't — _fucking_ — cut it." His voice is unsteady, shaky. His breathing ragged and uneven from the tears.

Red hair splays into his vision as he lowers his head. He knows. He knows _"sorry"_ doesn't cut it. Doesn't even begin to. But, what can he say? If he's being honest with himself, what did Yuusuke really expect him to say? _"I won't do it again?"_, or, more far-fetched still, _"It was a mistake?"_

What was he _**supposed**_ to say?

So, he hangs his head and accepts what he has been given: a pounding head, a split and bleeding lip. A white haze settling over his thoughts throwing his reality into a white-washed mess of static noise. _Welcome to Hell_, he thinks tiredly.

The sound of muffled footfalls beat heavily on the carpet. _So, Yuusuke is leaving?_ he asks himself tiredly. He wants to look up and watch his friend pull away. Walk away, close the door. Slam it in his damned face. Never come back. It is no less than he deserves. But, he cannot will himself to see it. Instead, he stares blankly at the carpet.

Pearl white. Perfect. Plush and comfortable on socked-feet. Thick and lush. Nice to look at. He spits at it in disgust. A smattering of blood sinks into the luscious threads, staining it. It will not come out easily — blood stains, he knows. His mother will kill him. Why doesn't this news unsettle him? He doesn't know, merely stares at the marred carpet. White. Perfect.

Just like him.

_What a laugh._

He is the exact opposite, if anything. Dirty. Filthy. Vile. A disgrace to both of the races to which he belongs and a taint on the woman who has unknowingly conceived him, and the demon he harbors at his core.

He shakes his head. Tired. He has not expected his visit with Yuusuke to leave him feeling so drained. In fact, today had started out as one of his better days. No treatment. No clinic visits. Little pain, manageable by means of some Tylenol. Now he feels utterly beaten as he stands.

He knows he has to wash out the carpet. Restore its clean perfection. He has to remove the stain, remove the taint, he placed upon it.

Just like he knows he has to, eventually; remove himself — the taint he has laid upon his mother.

With some work, the stain in the carpet will come out, he knows. It will fade all in due time. Just as he knows he, too, will.

* * *

**_Author's Ramblings:_** So, it's been awhile since I've submitted anything. I'll bet a lot of you forgot about me. Fact is, I thought my muse had all but abandoned me. But, I'm back. And, yeah, I'll be the first to admit, I'm not as pleased with this story as I hoped I'd be. I mean, it's still good, but I've done better. And, the tone seems weird to me. Even by my standards of writing. And, I know I completely screwed up tense agreement. Feel free to tell me how badly, hm? Concrit always appreciated... 

...As to why this story was written? Well, a few people remarked in reviews for _A Glass Rose_ that they wondered why the other characters never played much of a role in the story of our dear Fox's undoing. And, I know that. Believe me. I wanted to make Yuusuke a major character in the story, but aside from his finding and rescuing the fox, and his brief skit in the hospital room, he sort of faded into the background. Here's my attempt to bring some life into not only his extended reaction about his friend's actions, but another of the incidents that lead to our Fox's ultimate decision.

Please leave your names at the door, reviews intact, hm? the longer the better. The good, bad, and ugly all accepted. Thanks.

Blackrose


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